Eye of the Storm
by Black Stormraven
Summary: Martha likens the Doctor to a hurricane...and wonders if she really wants to be swept up in the storm again.


**Note:** Well, heck. I just can't let go of Martha and her inner turmoil, can I? This particular story takes place sometime after season 3, but not in any set time in the show. Enjoy!

A hurricane. That's what he was. A living, breathing hurricane in human form. Well, Time Lord form. Whatever. Point was, he was so forceful, so devastating, so glorious to behold. Before the Doctor, Martha's life was relatively simple: get up, go to work, mediate between family members, vent with Leo, go to sleep, repeat. At the time the pattern was exhausting; she'd always feel so drained by the time her head hit her pillow.

And then he came, the Doctor. Everything changed for her after him. He'd opened her eyes to the endless possibilities of the universe, all its wonders and dangers, its beauty, its sheet timelessness. Not to mention the joys of exploring new worlds and times, the pain of not being able to save some lives, and the ever-crushing weight of unconfessed "secrets".

She remembered the disappointment of his initial brush-off when she'd tried to flirt with him in the TARDIS. He'd given her her answer then, and yet she just kept falling for him, kept pushing, kept searching for the key to his heart. Hearts. Oh, whatever! As time marched on, she realized just how far and hard she'd fallen in love…and she still kicked herself for allowing it to happen in the first place, allowing her emotions to override her better judgment. He wasn't even human and yet she was in love with him, even after all the months of feeling second-best to a woman she'd never even seen, feeling ignored as a person unless lives were on the line. And not to forget, he was pretty much immortal. Even if, just _if_, her impossible fantasy could have come true, she couldn't give him eternity. She would age, grow old, then die. A mere blip of an existence compared to him.

He'd absolutely ruined her for other men, too. She knew she'd just compare them to him, and that wasn't fair. She'd spent so much time feeling inadequate next to someone else she couldn't bear to cause another person that kind of pain. She began to doubt that she'd ever find someone to spend her life with. That hypothetical person wouldn't be him. He wouldn't have his fathomless eyes, his untamable hair, his boyish grin, his near-bipolarity, his beautiful hands. No one else would make her knees weak with just one glance, one word, one touch.

Martha had very few delusions about him now, though. He was a Time Lord, a being of infinite power. She'd seen his excitement, his happiness, his grief, his fury, his fear…

Oh God, his fear. She still clearly recalled the sound of his voice when he'd been possessed by that sun, screaming as he burned from the inside out. _"Martha, I'm scared!"_ God, just thinking about it made her chest grow cold, her breath stop. Her heart broke for him then. She'd wanted to make sure he never _ever _felt like that again. But she'd left. She knew she deserved more than being just an extra body on the TARDIS. It still hurt, but she'd convinced herself she'd made the right choice. All she could do now was hope and pray that he was safe and unafraid.

She could just imagine him now: still blowing through people's lives like the storm he was. Every now and then she would dream of him. She would see him racing through space and time with such force, such joy of a new adventure. She would see him encountering an injustice and reacting with such restrained rage. He was simply beautiful to her, even in dreams. And then there were the rare ones that always left her a sobbing mess when she woke: the ones filled with breathless whispers, soft caresses, shared gasps, entwined limbs, and sweet releases. Those would always be burned into her brain, on loop for hours and sometimes days on end. They mocked her, constantly reminding her of what she wanted so badly yet could never ever have. And she would grieve again.

He'd destroyed her completely, just like a hurricane. The person she once was was no longer. That tended to happened when someone walked the Earth out of love for another that would never be returned, only to have it all erased in the blink of an eye. He'd annihilated her, but remade her in exchange; out of chaos comes order. She was stronger now, less fazed by crises that always popped up, able to put aside her emotions even better than before in order to keep some sense of sanity. She'd catch her eyes in the mirror sometimes and would reel back at the hardness she saw reflected there. Was that _his_ doing? Did he make her a monster? What did it matter now. Time had reversed, but she couldn't forget everything.

She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss him. In the back of her mind she craved for hi to bring the storm back into her life, if only to shake up the mundane existence she now lived (mundane to her, at least). She'd had a taste of the exhilaration and uncertainty that accompanied such a phenomenon and now she wanted it back. When she was alone sometimes she would toy with her mobile. _Should I?_ she always asked herself. _Just to hear his voice, at least. Just to be sure he's okay._ Then she would remember. He didn't love her. He wouldn't understand her desire to just hear him one more time. He'd think she was calling because something was drastically wrong, that she was in danger. Then he'd end up saying something that would hurt her again (never intentionally, though), she'd snap back before she could stop herself, and she'd end up feeling worse than before. She couldn't have that; she'd tried so hard to leave things amiable, a clean break for both of them. She didn't want to ruin that. So she'd set the phone down time after time and let her brain rot to whatever was on the telly.

Of course, it figured on the one day she'd managed to not think about him, her Doctor, she'd feel a familiar tingle on her skin. She had been making a pot of tea for herself when the sensation came over her. Her hands stopped in midair and her eyes turned to the side before the wind came. Not enough to displace anything, but enough to rattle her pictures and dishes. That familiar blue police box then faded into view, right there in the middle of her flat. She held her breath, not daring to move a muscle for fear it was another dream. Or worse…that it was real.

The door opened inward and the hurricane himself emerged. First, his head poked out, hair as unruly as ever. Next came his pinstriped shoulders, followed by hi Converse-clad feet (orange this time). That damnable grin was firmly formed on his face as well. The storm had returned in all his glory, all his brilliant, mad, exquisite, breath-taking splendor.

Martha couldn't speak, couldn't even think. What could she say? After months of wanting and hoping and crying and anger, here he was. Could she allow herself to be swept up in him again? She'd survived him once, but was she strong enough to weather him a second time? A million different thoughts ran through her head at once; her mouth just couldn't pick which one to speak first.

He appeared to have only one thought at the moment, however, and he had no problem with voicing it: "Hi there."

**Note: **I may or may not continue this from here. I'm not really sure at this point, although if I do keep going I'm going to make the next part as a stand-alone piece. Thanks for reading!


End file.
